The Messenger
by Lady Elleth
Summary: Before the sons of Feanor attack the Havens of Sirion, Elwing has to deal with a special visitor who both announces the coming threat and reminds her of the past. Chapter Two now up: The fate of Elrond and Elros.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien, and will never be. Arda and everything in it belongs to him. 

Thanks to Klose and Kazaera for the beta. What should I do without you? 

The Messenger

She saw the messenger arrive on an exhausted horse when evening fell, obviously he longed to deliver the message he was carrying as fast as possible. Before the borders of the settlement, her guards spied him, came from hiding and led him into the town. 

His glances around were fleeting, but he took in everything. The finely crafted, swan-shaped ships, the houses and narrow streets and the people who watched him, survivors from Doriath and Gondolin, some few with open disgust on their fair faces. 

The guards led him on, towards the centre of town where he would see a white house with a slender tower. The tower where she waited and watched, filled with nervousness for a reason she knew not. Maybe it was the wind that came through the open window, whispering words of warning to her ears.

She could hear their steps once they had crossed the yard and vanished from her sight into the house. 

She knew how the great hall would seem to the messenger: The high white walls would glow eerily in the dusky twilight, the air would be cool and silent. The only sounds would be their breaths, and their steps, which she heard stop at the foot of the staircase leading up to her. They would not dare go further. They knew she had noticed them. 

Outside the waves were roaring, storm clouds were gathering and the wind was turning. North, South, East and West. It was still whispering, of the remaining four.

They would come, they would come on the wings of the storm, and she would once again, like in the moment they had invaded her former home, be a fragile bird, unable to withstand their power.

It had been seven of them, then. Now there were only four left. But they would come. The messenger would report their coming, she knew it. 

Slowly she rose from her seat and descended down the staircase, until she stood before those who waited for her.

Her guards bowed, their faces earnest. Murmured words of greeting from their lips reached her ears. The messenger was silent, he did not bow. But he was as nervous as her, and his fleeting glances would meet her eyes more than once. It were but moments, yet time stood still for her. Every second for her was an eternity, a lifetime, long enough to 

show her the past she had lived through, long enough to make her remember him, the messenger who now stood in front of her, watching, waiting. 

She knew how he saw her now.

Tall and proud, radiant and cold, majestic in her robes of deepest blue, with pale skin and dark hair and eyes hard and afire with the light of the jewel in her carcanet.

He did not see the sadness, the fear and the longing deep inside her, that she had kept hidden deep inside her soul ever since Doriath had fallen a second time. Then she had been but a young maiden, fearful and afraid of him, of this very elf, who with bloodstained sword in hand threw her a disdainful glance, finding her unworthy to be killed.

He remembered her, but he also knew she was not the maiden anymore. 

His eyes darted to the doors for a moment, of dark wood inlaid with silver and then back to her carcanet, to her face, to her eyes. He knew her, too. He remembered. 

She almost smiled in satisfaction, when tiny droplets of sweat appeared upon his brow.

Oh yes, he knew her, he remembered her. And maybe this was what influenced his words.

"My Lady, I am sorry. I did not wish to deliver this message."

"And, pray tell, what would this message be? It can not be good news, since you seem to be so reluctant to tell."

He opened his mouth to speak, but with the wave of one slender hand she silenced the unsaid words.

"No, tell me not. I already know who sent you and what your purpose is. Simply tell me how much time we have left to prepare for the assault."

His eyes widened in shocked surprise. His voice quavered. 

"Forty-eight hours, unless you chose to return the jewel to its rightful owners. Please."

She raised one eyebrow and looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to go on.

He bent his head in shame.

"My Lords will not give up on their quest. They are bound by their Oath and so they will attack."

Outside, the wind roared, louder than before. Rain began to fall. Lightning lit the sky, when she answered.

"Go then, return to your Lords, and tell them I will not submit to their will. 

I let you go, for you did the same once. A life for a life."

Her voice was cold as ice. 

"My Lady, you do not understand. I have changed in the long years since the last attack. I am weary of these lands and wish not to fight. Yet if I must, it will be for you, if you allow. Maybe on this way I will gain forgiveness from the Valar, for helping the innocent. And I can not justify that my Lords will slay their kin again; but they will, because it is easier to slay elves than the monsters who guard the gates to the Iron-Hell. Here there are but the lives of your kin to defend you, and they are easily defeated."

"No matter on which side you fight, you will spill blood. Would you slay one of your Lords to protect me? One of your friends?"

He nodded. 

"Kinslayer. I am sure this is not what the Valar would want. Too many lives have been lost because of the Oath of Fëanor. Go and return to those who are of your mind. I for myself will not fight, though I allow it to any who wish to defend their lives."

She nodded to her guards, their faces stone, her eyes fiery.

"Give him his horse and let him go. Then go and spread the word. My people shall prepare."

* * *

In the night, the wind calmed down. The sea was calm, but the clouds were still there.

She awoke to the far-off sound of thunder and hurried to the chamber of her sons, both sleeping quietly with content looks on their faces. She stood in the room, ghostlike in the dark and seemingly fragile in her beauty, her eyes loving and soft and sorrowful.  

They were both sleeping. The thunder had not woken them, it had not disturbed their sleep.

She turned and left the room. At the foot of the staircase she stopped, and listened to the voice of the messenger that still seemed to linger in the air, filling it with fear.

Forty-eight hours. He had lied. 

The thunder in the distance, it had been them. 

They would attack sooner than expected. The storm would break.

She ran up the stairs, until she had reached the room where she had waited before the messenger had arrived. A shaking hand drew back the curtain hiding the western window that looked out wide over the empty sea, a path of moonlight shining on the waves. He was not coming, her own messenger. 

She would have to come to him, and if this meant to die, so she would. She was not afraid to face death, she was only afraid to meet it by their hands, for she had said she would not fight – and to this she would hold. 

But her sons, her sweet children could not be harmed. 

The thunder had not roused them, so the remaining four would do them no harm… so she hoped, but she could not be certain. She could be wrong, and they were too young to die.

Her husband could not come to take his sons away from the danger so she had to do so herself.

This time, she tried not to be silent. With a candle in the hand, she roused her two young boys, made them dress and hastily gave both of them  bundles with bread and water that she had gathered from the kitchens. Their young eyes wide with wonder they watched their mother´s strange behaviour, but did as they were bid. 

She opened one of the windows and in the gust of wind that came in, the curtains moved around her like the wings of a white bird. 

"Listen to me. You must go. Run, and hide somewhere where no one may find you. Do not stop for anything, and do not tell a soul where your way will lead you. Strangers will come, do not trust them. Only come back when you have nothing more to eat and drink, and even then, be very careful. I do not want that anything happens to you. Do you understand me?"

The two young ones nodded, and after a last embrace, she ushered them to climb out of the low window. Elrond held his arms up to catch his sibling, and hand in hand they ran away, leaving small footprints, barely visible, in the moist sand. 

She did not look where they were going once, out of fear she would call them back against any reason, and closed the window again. 

Minutes alter she had climbed the stairs once more, and with her hands still shaking, she opened a box of silver. She had to close her eyes for a moment, when the sheen of the jewel threatened to blind her. 

She put the necklace around her slender throat and sat down, waiting, in the knowledge that she would not grant them victory, that she would not die by their hands, and that her sons were safe.

She sat and waited for the storm to rise, for the thunder and the winds that would reach for her, her eyes afire once more. 


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: The messenger is mine, everything else belongs to Tolkien. 

Author´s notes: Thanks to Klose for the fabulous beta… you can really be nitpicky, thank you so much for that. I don´t think the story would not make too much sense without you. J

Responses and thank you´s to the reviewers can be found in the end. 

This part is dedicated to those who demanded a second chapter – here it is. Enjoy. 

 * * *

It was dark. The clouds had gathered and even the moon that had been there some minutes before had now disappeared. Only occasional flashes of lightning tore the sky into and lit the path of the two young boys, fleeing their home as if death was behind them. 

Suddenly Elros stopped, panting and clutching his sides with shaking hands. The bag Elwing had given him had dropped to the ground. The younger of the twins could hear something inside shatter and he wondered what it might have been**. **Right now he was too frightened to think clearly.

With large, tear-filled eyes he looked at his brother, who had ran a few steps ahead before stopping. 

"What is happening? Why did _naneth_ send us away?"

"Because strangers will come."

"Oh. What will they do?"

"I don´t know."

Silence. 

A long pause followed, and the twins walked on. They had left the coast behind and were turning north now, in a safe distance from their home. Elrond, the elder of the two, was heading straight for the woods ahead; hoping that they might find shelter from the strangers as their mother had wanted, and from the storm that was brewing.

"Elrond?"

"Yes?" 

"I am frightened. It is so dark."

"I will let nothing happen to you, and the night should not last longer than a few hours anymore. Don´t be afraid, _tithen gwador, _or do you want to be nicknamed_ Nightfearer_?" Elrond teased his brother slightly in attempt to lighten the younger one´s mood. 

Though his voice was steady, he was afraid, too. Not so much of the night, but of what would happen to their _naneth_, who had sent them away. He wondered what had upset her so, for in his childish understanding of the world he did not believe that anyone save the servants of Morgoth could really hurt people. 

Elrond and Elros had both been taught lore and history, but their parents had yet forbidden the teachers to tell them about the kinslayings the sons of Fëanor had committed, thinking the Havens of Sirion safe from any evil.

*

They had walked some more, and were standing before the thick canopy of the forest. Before Elrond dared to set a foot on the tunnel-like path that lead through the underbrush, he turned and looked back to their home.

When it was night in the Havens, there had been light.  Silver light from the many small lamps that lit the quays for homecoming sailors and amber light from the candlelit windows. This light was reflected in the sky at night-time and there had always been a soft shimmer in the air above the settlement.

But not now. Now there was a red glow, of fire and flames, and dark smoke lit crimson in a contrast against the dark night. 

Elrond stood frozen for a moment, shaking off the thoughts that indeed something bad might have happened to his mother.  He firmly grabbed Elros´ right hand, not allowing him to turn back and led him into the wood. 

"Come. We should hide, as _naneth_ asked us to do. We will soon be there."

The two young boys trudged on**,** along one of the many small rivers forming the Sirion-delta, until they reached a clearing. The stream, that was now not much more than a brook came down a steep precipice of chalk rock there, and its bubbling waters falling to the boulders and stones below created a soothing melody, as if it was supposed to calm the frightened children who still stood on the southern edge of the clearing. 

Both boys sent up fearful glances to the treetops that seemed to bend over them. They both had played in this forest before, but always during the hours of daylight, and never alone. Now that it was night, the towering beeches, oaks and elms appeared to be giants, monsters, and other evil things in the childrens´ imagination, for the two of them were after all but four years old. 

"If we will run, they will not get us," Elros whispered, his eyes darting over to the waterfall, knowing that there was a hole behind it that the water had washed out over the years. 

"Who are you talking of?"

"The monsters. If we run, they will not get us." 

Elrond nodded and looked up the treetops. They moved in the wind, and to his overly sensible nerves the rustle of the leaves sounded like whispers, a plan for an attack. He shivered. 

"If we run, they will not get us." 

They both ran over the dark clearing, jumped into the icy cold water of the brook and scrambled up the rocks, through the waterfall and into the small cave behind it. Though their clothes were wet and the air in the cave was chill, Elros smiled tentatively, while looking at his brother. "They did not get us." 

"No, they didn´t. We ran." The firstborn of the two relaxed, already forgetting the fear that had held them both in its grasp, and the fact that their homes were burning. And sitting close to his brother, Elros drifted off into the world of elven dreams. 

*

Elwing sat in her tower and watched from its eastern window how the houses and the ships in the Havens of Sirion burst into flames. "Burning swanships. History repeats," she whispered. 

In the red glow of the fire she saw the battle at the gates, and in this moment she knew the messenger has been right. Her people were defeated more easily than the vile creatures of Morgoth that guarded the gates of Angband. She knew that they, her people, were dying to protect their families, their property, and her, their lady. She, who had refused to fight, who had refused to give away the Silmaril that her grandparents had won from the Iron Crown. The Silmaril that her father and mother had defended with their lives. She could do so as well, and even if she chose not to fight, not to spill more kindred blood, there was a way. Maybe elves would die here, she thought… but if she did the right thing, the lands of Beleriand would have peace again. Foresight had come to her in the hours of waiting.

There was just one final thing she needed to know. She would learn of the fates of her sons eventually, when the remaining four would come for her. And then, she would fly. 

* 

Even after Elros had fallen asleep, Elrond sat, watching the waterfall in the darkness and the faint red light that danced upon it on the other side. He listened to the music of the water on the stones and the quiet sound of wind in the treetops. Now that he was safe, it was nothing more than that.

The elder son of Eärendil and Elwing was tired indeed, but he did not find a moment´s rest. Instead his mind slipped into the area between dream and reality; the light on the water mingled with the flames of candles, the sound of the water mingled with his mother´s voice and the wind sounded like the wings of a white bird passing through the air at great speed, white fire upon its breast. Elrond smiled slightly, the image of the bird stayed in his mind and occupied his dreams, while his mother´s voice told him that they did not need to fear for her. 

*

The door bolted open without resistance, it had not been locked. From below, Elwing now heard the sound of metal clashing against metal, and the cries of the wounded. Yet, the one who had stormed into her room was not one of those she had dreaded, but a face familiar from a history of fear and blood, a face familiar from an encounters only hours ago. The messenger.

"Lady, there is a chance for you, fly! For the love of the Valar, go as long as you are still able to!" In his voice she could hear the panic she felt and wondered briefly if he could see it in her face. When her gaze swept over him briefly, she saw the sword dripping with red blood.

"Kinslayer," she said, addressing him, and closed her eyes against the pain. No matter if it were elves from Sirion or Feanorians. Slain was slain, and she was sure Mandos would not make a difference between them. 

But she could ask her question now, if her sons had been found, if it was perhaps their blood the messenger´s sword was dripping with. 

"Kinslayer, do you know where my sons are? Are they found?" 

She knew not if she could trust his words, for he had lied to her before, but she needed to know. His word was as good as that of others, for everyone she could now ask would be a follower of Fëanor, all others were slain or fled. 

"Kinslayer, I am waiting for an answer. Are my sons found?"

She did not see him wince at this word, every time again. 

"No. Their chamber was empty, and we know not where they are."

"Good. Your Lords may come then; I am ready." She laughed silently, mirthlessly, and rose from her seat by the window to look out into the night. Thick clouds veiled the moon, and a strong wind was blowing, causing the sea to roar. Uinen was grieving and firelight played red on the waves, mingling with the crimson blood that stained the water.  

And despite the destruction of her people´s dwellings, despite the fear and confusion in her heart, Elwing smiled. Foresight had come to her again.

The messenger watched horrified, when she set one foot on the low windowsill and turned to him again. 

"You may be a kinslayer," the Lady said now, and this time her voice was calm, perhaps even friendly. "You may be a kinslayer, but if you find my sons, do not abandon them to the same fate as my brothers. Without my sons, many things shall never be set right. Without them, a shadow shall rise in the East in future ages, and never be defeated. Trust my words. Do not harm them."

He only nodded, overwhelmed by the truth he sensed in her words.

Her eyes watched the open door warily, and she waited, standing on the edge of an abyss, one step away from the edge of the fall. 

When the first son of Fëanor appeared in the dark entrance, Elwing did the last step. She saw him standing there, left hand outstretched for the stone, but the last thing she saw was the messenger, tears in his eyes, and then she fell. 

A cry of disbelief reached her ears, torn apart by the wind, just before she dived into the water down below, and she knew that the messenger had proven to be faithful in the end. That he would prove to be faithful in the future.

*

Elros awoke with the sunrise and looked around to find the bags their mother had given them in the night, and then gently shook his brother. The older of the twins shivered, but did not awake. "Elrond!" Elros called him, and touched his brother´s shoulder again, this time shaking him harder. The sleeper awoke with a start and looked around, until his grey eyes came to rest on his twin brother. 

"I am cold," he whispered. 

"I know. It is cold here, but _naneth_ sent us away and said we should hide. She gave us water and bread and said we should stay away from home, but I lost my bag, and yours has fallen into the water. We can´t eat it," he explained as if it was the most logical thing in the world.

Rubbing his eyes, Elrond shivered again, and noticed that his brother had confessed that he was also freezing. The air in the cave was chill and their breath could be seen as a white cloud before their mouths. 

"We need to go home and get new clothes and food. We can be careful," Elrond said before his brother could object to anything.

"The strangers will not get us."

"No. The monsters did not get us, because we ran, and the strangers will not get us either."

Elros smiled.

*

The brothers had not to walk far to reach the edge of the wood. What they saw there was a shock to both of them, though Elrond, having looked back in the night had known what they would find… but he had refused to remember. 

Tears streamed down both their faces when they ran over the open fields and along the beach on the way they had come. They both needed to know if their mother was hurt or killed in the smoking ruins of what had once been their home. They stayed away from the city and looked around for a hiding place.

The water´s edge was riddled with rocks of all sizes. The two young elves crouched behind one of the larger boulders and watched what was going on in the remnants of the town. Elves were busy walking around, some sword or bows in hand, but all of them silent. Not a voice filled the air, and had it not been for the sharp smell of burnt wood, Elros would have thought it a dream. 

"Who are they and where is naneth?" he asked, whispering in his brother´s ear.

"They are the strangers _naneth_ spoke of. We have to be very careful now. I don´t know where _naneth_ is." 

"How can we get into the house?" 

"We can not. It is too dangerous now. We have to wait. Maybe she comes out." 

They fell silent again, observing the scene. At last, when they knew not how much time had passed, a single voice began to sing a powerful song, the tune rising and falling with the waves. 

*

Maglor wandered along the shore, singing, singing to ease his heart from the pain and regret he felt. They should not have attacked the settlement, but they were bound to do so. Once more, just another time in the countless years, he cursed the oath he and his brothers had sworn…. The oath that had taken so many lives, its last victims his youngest brothers, Ambarussa… Amrod and Amras. A single tear fell silently while he sang and mingled with the salt waters that played around his bare feet. He was certain the copper-haired twins were dead, everyone took it for granted, for they had not been seen in the morning when the survivors had been meeting. And yet, they were not the only ones missing. Many had fallen.

He smiled in bitter irony… Noldolantë, the Fall of the Noldor… how true it was in so many ways… today was just another occasion to add another verse to his song.

The singer looked down into the foam, white, sometimes red, and he might not even have noticed the children, had it not been for his brother, his only remaining brother, who approached him in this moment.

"Makalaurë! We have found them," he called against the wind, and Maglor looked up with nothing but grief written in his grey eyes. He did not ask who "they" were. He did not move. 

Finally, Maedhros, accompanied by another elf, had waited long enough, simply staring at his younger brother, standing in the water, the dark hair whipped by a strong wind, and began to climb over the rocks, down to him. Just ere he had reached his brother, he looked down to find sure footage on the slippery surface, and a movement caught his eye. 

*

The young ones ducked down deeper behind the stones and hoped they had not been seen – to no avail. They had been discovered. The strange elf bent down to get a better sight on the brothers and they backed away even more. But by now, the other stranger had also noticed them and came up to them. 

"Don´t hurt us," Elros whimpered, panic in his voice. He clutched his brother´s hand as if his life depended on it, knowing somehow that those two elves were responsible for the destruction of  their home.

*

Makalaurë looked up to see the other elf approaching. He pondered for a moment where he had seen him before and then knew that he had been sent to bear the message here before the attack. 

"Don´t hurt them. I now bear a message from Elwing, daughter of Dior Eluchil, and Lady of this town. She bade me tell you not to hurt her sons, and those two look remarkably like her."

"They are children. Why should we hurt them?" Maedhros asked, anger clouding his face. 

_Unpleasant memories, _Maglor thought, remembering how long his brother had sought for the sons of Dior in the woods of Doriath – in vain. 

The silence was broken by a small voice. Elrond had gotten up from his hiding place, his brother by the hand. "Where is _naneth_?" he demanded to know. 

Again, silence, while the three elves looked at each other. It was the messenger who spoke first.

"Little ones, she asked us to care for you," he said in a low voice, kneeling down to be able to look those two in the faces. He saw that tears threatened to fall from their eyes again if they did not soon get an answer to the question. 

"We do not know where she is now," he finally admitted, sighing. "But we will care for you."

Despite his words, he was startled when Maedhros knelt down beside him and reached out to them with his hand. His Lord could be a fierce warrior, and it was known that he had roamed the woods far and wide to find Elured and Elurin, the uncles of those two young elves, but them messenger had never expected him to be thus gentle. When he spoke, his voice was soft and soothing.

"We will care for you, if you allow us to do so. Now please tell me your names, little ones."

"Elrond."

"Elros."

Maglor came to stand behind his brother, and also reached out to the little ones. Both of them, even though they were still afraid, placed their hands in those of the brothers, and were helped out of their hiding place. 

The two sons of Fëanor looked at each other sadly, probably remembering times when they were still young, and their brothers, who now lay dead not too far away, were still alive; when there was no oath, and no unrest in Valinor. Those times would never return, both Maedhros and Maglor knew this, but maybe they would be able to give those two boys back the life they could have lived, and redeem some of their deeds. 

_And after all, everything happens for a reason_, Maglor remembered the words of the loremasters of Tirion. _Maybe the events today lead to a better fate, to a doom we can not even imagine._

The End

*

Translations: 

Naneth – Mother

Tithen Gwador – Little Brother

*

Kazaera: Here you have the sequel/ second chapter =)  Thanks for your review, I am glad that it shows that I tried to portray Elwing in this way. 

LaJiggles: Thank you J This was what I tried to do. 

alena: Wow. Thank you, I´m really happy that another fan of Elwing likes this, and of course it is wonderful to hear that you liked the unnamed elf. I have grown rather fond of him, so this is a very flattering thing to hear. 

Dragon-of-the-North: Again, thanks that you like my Elwing, as well as the descriptions. The messenger is just a random elf I made up, and has nothing to do with canon, since it is said in the Silmarillion that "the maiden Elwing was saved by faithful elves," and not that someone spared her. But of course, the one does not contradict the other thing. 

jilian baade: Thank you for the encouragement to write a second chapter… hope you get answers to your questions now.

TreeHugger: Yes, he has most definitely a history of fear and blood with Elwing. I love your choice of words here, and of course I love it how you follow the course of the story with your review. 

erunyauve: What an insight! Yes, the jewel is certainly worth her life, as you have seen in this chapter. Thank you!

Aria: No, not lovely, but your review is J Thanks. Oh, and btw, what is a "Toodles"? ;-) 


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